Kind of a 'Whoa' Thing
by rainwater tears
Summary: When Tristin dies Rory's life is changed completely and unexpectedly in the weirdest ways she ever imagined.


"Argh!" Three weeks into work and she was already sick of her job. All she ever seemed to do was cater to the needs of her boss. She had fetched coffee, refilled the paper tray, and even ordered a winter coat from Lands End, when was he going to let her prove herself as a writer? A reporter? Now the phone was ringing at her desk, her cell phone was vibrating in her pocket, and her boss was headed in her direction with what looked like a very large pile of things to be photocopied.  
  
"Gilmore!" His voice was annoyingly high, and it didn't fit his Perry White persona. He almost made her miss Doyle, in a "never gonna happen unless the world spins off it's access and my mother goes a week on decaf" kind of way.  
  
"Just a minute." She answered the desk phone first, knowing that with either phone she'd end up with her mother on the other end. That was the way things worked now, the only way to contact her was to block off her communication with everyone else. "I'm going to have to call you back, Mom," she said, not even waiting to make sure, and she should have.  
  
"Excuse me?" It was a man's voice, low and dark. It was definitely not her mother.  
  
She felt herself blush and fumbled with her words. This was not the impression she wanted to make in front of her boss. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't, I thought...The Daily Journal, please hold." She pushed the button that would end the conversation for the time being and turned to her boss. "Mr. Kline."  
  
"Miss Gilmore, I need you to fax these to the features department," he said, referring to the stack in his hand, "and then copy them and bring them back to me."  
  
"Alright, Mr. Kline."  
  
Without even a thank you he turned away and she returned to the embarassing phone call. "Hello."  
  
"Hi, I'm looking for a Lorelai Gilmore."  
  
"Speaking." No one she didn't know had ever called her desk, most of the time she was the lay over to Mr. Kline's destination, but there was a first for everything.  
  
"Hi. My name is Devon Brigstone, I'm the Dugrey family lawyer."  
  
She paused for a second. "Dugrey?" The name was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure who you're talking about."  
  
"Really? Tristin Dugrey? You don't remember him? He told me you were friends back in high school."  
  
"Tristin? Chilton Tristin?" She was thoroughly confused. A man she didn't know was talking about a boy she hadn't seen in years.  
  
"I suppose so, yes. Anyway, I'm calling because, well, this is the hardest part. Uh, Tristin was recently involved in a car accident. He suffered from some severe internal damage, and one of his last requests was that everything go to Lorelai Leigh Gilmore."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Now, I know this is a lot of information to take in at--"  
  
"Tristin Dugrey, the guy that I haven't seen since I was 17, was killed in a car accident and left everything to me?!"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?" When had this day turned so...weird? This morning had started out normal. She'd gotten up, hated her boss, brushed her teeth, hated her boss, eaten breakfast, hated her boss, come to work, hated her boss. Nothing out of the ordinary. And now she was inheriting the estate of a sort-of-high-school-friend-if-you-define-friend-loosely. Weird.  
  
"We're not sure. We had a hard enough time figuring out who you were. It wasn't until we came across one of his old high school yearbooks that we even found your name. You're very difficult to track down Ms. Gilmore."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I take it you're a bit shocked."  
  
"Yeah. A bit... It's just a kind of a 'whoa' thing."  
  
"Well, we're going to have to meet, to go over a few things. Tristin was not a poor man. You've inherited quite a large sum of money. Is there a time when you think that would be possible? I'm located in Hartford, but I could come up to New York for a day."  
  
"No, no, I'll come to you. It'll give me an excuse to come home for a weekend. How about the weekend of the twenty fifth?"  
  
"Sure." He gave her his address and she hung up just as Mr. Kline was approaching her desk again.  
  
"Ms. Gilmore, have you done the work I asked you for yet?"  
  
She pulled up the best fake tears she could and looked him directly in the eye. "No, Mr. Kline, I'm sorry," she said, and choked out a sob. "It's just, I've just, that was a friend's lawyer. I-he-he's dead!" she wailed.  
  
"Oh, Ms. Gilmore, I'm sorry. Is there anything I could do?"  
  
"I just need the weekend of the twenty fifth off. You know, to clear up some business."  
  
"Yes, of course. Take all the time you need."  
  
Clearly uncomfortable with the thought of a crying girl, Mr. Kline left, and Rory dialed her mother's number.  
  
"Hey Mom, what are you doing two weekends from now?" 


End file.
